


He Will Stand Upon the Earth

by taizi



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Cas is a badass, Dean gets taken care of, Deviates From Canon, Everyone Ships Castiel/Dean Winchester, Gen, Holy!Dean, Hurt Dean Winchester, M/M, Normal Life, Protective Castiel, Protective Sam Winchester, Sam is also a badass, Stigmata, but hey, even God, thats the winchesters for you, then everything falls to shit again, you know for a little while
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-24
Updated: 2014-07-04
Packaged: 2017-12-27 12:06:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/978665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taizi/pseuds/taizi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which the Winchesters are kidnapped by angels because God has a lot of stuff to tell Dean about.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

When the angels grabbed them, the first thing they did was pull Dean away, holding Sam back when he tried to follow. Their motel room was gone, replaced by an empty field somewhere in the world where dawn was breaking on the horizon and the stars were fading into soft light.

Dean was panting, Sam noticed in alarm, but the angels didn't seem to have hurt him. They were more propping him up as he swayed on his feet, his eyes searching almost blindly.

"Sammy?"

"I'm here, Dean. Dean?"

"I don't- " He tugged weakly on one arm, but the angels weren't budging and it seemed to wear him out. "Bastards... _Cas_. Cas, where- "

Sam didn't even have time to hope before Dean's angel was there, in a rustle of unseen feathers and worn old trenchcoat. Furious blue eyes cut through the angels restraining Dean, and when Cas approached, they relinquished the human without more than a moment's reluctance. Dean breathed out in relief when it was Cas' arm coming around his shoulders, and Sam relaxed, too, when Cas snapped, "What is the meaning of this?"

The angels looked a little befuddled. One of them murmured, "You know the meaning, brother. You feel it, too. You were supposed to deliver Dean Winchester to this place, and you did not."

Dean's body convulsed suddenly, once, and then again, his hands clawing at thin air, and Cas held him tighter, eyes flicking over to Sam's, and Sam didn't care how terrified he probably looked, how scared and stricken his voice would sound, because Dean was writhing now in silent agony, and watching him, Sam couldn't breathe. He met Cas' heated glance and whispered, "Cas please tell me what's going on. Is he-"

Castiel looked pained, and furious, and sorry, and shook his head. "No, Sam. No, he's- " His jaw clenched shut with force, and he turned on the unfamiliar angels with uncalculated anger. "He has been through _hell_. He's seen the worst of Heaven, and of man, his soul has been dragged through trial and fire and pain, and yet he _refuses_ to bow under the weight of it- "

"Which is why he is being called on now- "

"Which is why I would have him spared!" Cas thundered. Dean found purchase in a handful of Cas' coat, and gripped tight- both a distraction and a reminder, because the next thing Cas said was, "Let Sam go."

Sam was released, and wasted no time in scrambling over to Dean's side, dropping to his knees, hands trembling as they hovered over his brother's siezing body. "Cas what's _wrong_ with him?"

"It's an honor," one of the angels remarked, and Cas snarled silently at her. Sam looked at her, then at Castiel.

"Cas?"

"He's going to have an... audience with Father." Cas lifted his eyes heavenward, and the icy blue of them _burned_. "Another weight on his breaking heart."

Sam stared at him. "You- an audience with- " He jerked around to look at the angels assembled there, then back at Castiel, hoping one of them would explain the joke. "Pam looked at you for a _second_ and her eyes burned out of her skull! And you're just an angel, this is _God_!" It felt like his heart was going to beat straight out of his chest, and between them, Dean moaned. "Cas it's gonna kill him, or make him a, a vegetable or something. Cas, please, we can't let him, we have to do something." Sam pulled his brother up against his chest, curling over him in a desperate attempt to protect, recalling several times in his life when Dean had done the same thing, green eyes fierce and bright.

_"I've got you, Sammy."_

Sam turned on one of the angels who had grabbed Dean back in the motel room. "I don't care if its with God or the devil, he's not going _anywhere,_ do you understand me?"

One of the angels' vessels had long blond hair and soft brown eyes. Coupled with her gentle voice, her whole presence was probably meant to be a soothing one as she said, "Why are you scared? In the hands of our Father, he will be safe and at peace. No pain shall touch your Dean."

"What the fuck are you talking about he's in pain _now_!" Sam hitched Dean closer, panicking more and more with every agonized heave of his big brother's body. This wasn't a wendigo or cockatrice, nothing Sam could hunt or research and save Dean from, this was God, and what the hell was Sam supposed to do about that?

"Cas." He knew he sounded desperate, knew he sounded half his age, but he didn't care. "There has to be _something_."

"You used to pray every night, Sam," Cas said quietly. "Pray now."

Sam's eyes were burning as Dean cried out for him. "To who?"

Then Dean fell completely still, limp in Sam's arms, head rolling back, an eerie white light ghosting from his open eyes. And with a dry sob, as Castiel gripped his shoulder, and the angels around them clamored in titillation, Sam prayed.

_Dean, if you can hear me..._


	2. Chapter 2

"These angels keep trying to touch you, it's getting on my fucking nerves. I mean I guess I can kind of understand- their dad's back, out of nowhere, and we always got excited when dad would call in after being gone for months. It's not the same thing but- you know what, it kind of is. I just wish they would back off. It's not our job to fix their family. I mean, look at ours."

* * *

"Remember when I was seven, Dean? When we stayed in Colorado for a few months? I was excited, because my class was going on a field trip to the museum, but dad wouldn't sign the permission form. He never said why, he just  _wouldn't_ , and I threw a fit when you told me. I know it was stupid, but at the time it was so important, and I took it out on you because you always took dad's side.

"The day of the fieldtrip, you sat down across from me at the table and slid over a plate of toast and the permission form. Dad's name was scrawled across the signature line, and you looked unhappy, but all you said was "Don't tell dad, Sammy."

"I have no idea if dad ever found out, but I wish I hadn't done that to you, Dean. We always had so little, and you never asked for anything. You just wanted to make us both happy."

* * *

"You found a cat once. What did you name it... Bertram? You brought it back to the motel. Dad didn't really care, he was working some case- half the time he never really seemed to notice we were there. 

"Bertram had been attacked by something- one of his legs was mangled- and he looked half-starved. That's why you picked him up, wasn't it? You were just a kid, but you were patient and took care of him, and by the end of the week he looked good as new. It was fun having a pet, and I remember how he'd curl up on my lap while I read or did homework, purring like his life depended on it.

"He loved you like crazy, too, followed you around like a dog. But when it was time to move on, dad said to get rid of him, and I was so _angry_ at you, Dean, because you barely fought him on it. You just stood there, holding your little cat in your arms, and said, "Yes, sir."

"When I got home from school the next day, Bertram was already gone. You'd found a good home for him, you promised. I knew you did, but it was awhile before I forgave you, for giving up on Bertram so easily, and for giving him away before I got the chance to say goodbye.

"Looking back on it, Dean? I'm glad you did. I'm glad I didn't have to be there, because I can only _imagine_ how you must have looked, giving up one more thing you loved.

"I think the worst part is that you saved him, knowing you'd never get to keep him."

* * *

"Cas is really- different from all of them. I think it's because he sort of gave up on God awhile back, you know? Another deadbeat dad who wouldn't pick up the damn phone, right? 

"He's standing behind me now, spinning his angel blade, and they're all hanging back. He learned that from you, didn't he, the way you spin your knife. He follows your example, and that's not as crazy as it sounds. You might be just a human, but you're _Dean_."

* * *

"I think he really does care about you. Cas, I mean. But he doesn't know how to say it, and you don't know what that even means. Because the people in bars and diners at 3 am don't see all those things you hate about yourself. The blood and the fight and the stubborn heart that won't just _stop_ and count it's losses. All that stuff about you that you _hate_. They only see the green eyes and the charming smile and because of that you can't trust anybody, can you?

"Cas sees it, though. He sees the whole package, 100% Dean Winchester, and he's still here. And anyone else would know what that means, but not you."

* * *

"We fought a lot as kids, but the worst time was that night in Charleston. Honestly, Dean, I don't even remember what we fought about. I was, what, thirteen, fourteen? I think it was something about you treating me like a little kid. You told me that you were the big brother, it was your job to be right all the time, and when dad was gone, you were in charge, end of story.

"I- I told you I hated you. I _screamed_ that at you. And for one second you looked so- but you just told me to get some sleep, and three nights later you saved me from a ghoul, and carried me back to the motel so I wouldn't have to walk on a sprained ankle, and I felt like trash.

"You never let me apologize, though. Like you didn't need to hear it. I think you did though, I think you _really_ did."

* * *

"I'm sick of this, Dean. I'm sick of fighting ghosts and monsters, and demons and now angels. We started this to avenge mom, and then Jess, and now we're supposed to sacrifice each other to start or stop the apocolypse- why is that decision on our shoulders, Dean? Why did it have to be us?"

* * *

"Every time we talk about my future you- you write yourself out of it. Me, going back to school, me, with a wife and kids, me successful and happy and average. And I do want that, I want all of that, but- I'm sorry if I made you think- Dean, you were always in those plans. You were always a part of that future."

* * *

"They say you can't get out of the hunting business, but we do stuff they say you can't do all the time. I mean you're- you're talking to God, right now, so- 

I'm getting out, Dean, and I'm taking you with me. We're done. With all this, with everything. We're done."

* * *

"Cas, I can't... Can he even hear me?"

"He always hears you, Sam."

* * *

"Dean, please."

* * *

"I don't know what you're- what you're talking about up there, but... Whatever you need to do- whatever you need to say, it's fine, it's all fine- as long as you come back to us, okay? As long as you come home."

* * *

Sam's head was bowed over Dean's chest at this point, his fingers curled tightly into his brother's jacket. 

"Don't forget about me down here, Dean. Don't forget Cas. Please, please, no matter what it takes, please come back."

"Bossy... bitch..."

Cas is there in a quiet rustle, and Sam's head snapped up so fast he might have pulled something in his neck. But no, Dean's eyes were green again, glassy and tired but achingly familiar and alive, and when his brother's rasped words registered Sam promptly burst into tears.

"Aw, Sammy," Dean said in actual distress, bringing an arm around him when Sam curled over him again, sobbing silently, muttering "stupid jerk" just to hear Dean huff out an exhausted laugh.

He could feel Dean groping off to the side for something, and after a moment of what Sam could guess was uncertainty from the Winchesters' angel, Castiel moved into Dean's reach. Immediately Dean's hand clenched in a fold of Cas' trenchcoat.

And it was no mystery why, with Sam and Cas both in his grasp, Dean breathed, "Thank _god_ ," before he passed out.


	3. Chapter 3

Dean woke up like a drowning man coming up for air. His whole body arched up off the bed, gasping and heaving, and it took a solid three minutes for Sam and Cas to convince him he wasn't dying.

Sam's arm was wrapped like a vice around Dean's shoulders, bracing him in his attempts to breathe, hoping he sounded soothing in his, "Just breathe, man," because he was unable to help the scared "oh god, Dean, breathe" that came in its wake.

Cas was solid strength at his side, a hand circling one of Dean's wrists like a manacle, blue eyes intent on Dean's twisted face. It took a few long moments, but Dean's desperate gulps of air gradually transitioned into rapid, shallow inhales, chest rising and falling like he'd just run a marathon.

His eyes were almost too bright, almost feverish when he finally glanced up at Sam. It took him a moment too long to focus, but when he did some of the lines in his face smoothed out.

"Do you- " His voice was raspy; his breath caught with a wheeze and he broke off to cough, and then grimace. " _Sam_ \- Sam- do you feel okay?"

There was a beat of absolute stillness and silence- broken by the absolute most disapproving  _"Dean"_ from Cas, and Sam's practically shrieked, "Are you  _kidding_ me?"

For some reason Dean  _chuckled,_ leaned into Sam's arm as he leveled himself up on an elbow. "He showed me- showed me your soul, kiddo."

"What?"

"Yeah."

Sam blinked a few times, feeling wrong-footed; he was flying a hundred and ninety miles an hour down the  _worried-about-Dean_ interstate maybe literally carved into his heart and bones- there was no way he could U-turn across the median back onto worry-about-yourself without an inevitable crash and burn.

Still, though. God? His soul? After a moment, despite himself, Sam prompted, "And?"

_Was it ugly?_

Dean's slap was weak and poorly aimed, barely making its mark on the side of Sam's head. "Don't be an idiot," he snapped, proving he was only psychic when it came to a self-decaprating Sam. "It was- I can't explain it. You've seen one before, that time with Famine. But he-  _showed_ me. And it-  _you-_ were so..." He struggled, visibly floundered for the right word, glanced up at Cas for help, and the angel murmured almost immediately,

"Hurt."

Dean nodded, eyes glued to Castiel's face the moment they landed there; distracted, he reached for Cas with one hand, and Cas clasped it warmly.

"Hello, Dean."

The older Winchester still wasn't firing on all cylinders, and he blinked slowly, lost miles away, staring at Cas like he'd never seen him before. After a moment, Castiel moved closer, sitting on the edge of Dean's bed so the hunter could relax his arm without letting go. The settling of the angel's weight on the bed snapped Dean back to the present.

And presently, he was wrapped in Sam's arms and holding Castiel's hand. He flushed.

Sam nudged him before he had the chance to be mortified. "My soul was hurt?"

"Yeah. So I asked him to fix it."

The younger hunter blinked, and took quick mental stock of himself.

And maybe he did feel a little... _different._ In ways there was no way for him to describe. Gone were the raw edges of pain- the bruised memories that ached when his thoughts drifted in their direction. There was no spite or resentment, no petulance, no anger that bled from wounds he should have allowed to heal  _years_ ago, always on the edge of his mind, the edge of his dreams.

There was exasperation, sure; he sort of figured there always would be. The grief was still there- Jess, his parents, lost friends- and a weighted sense of  _loss._ But it wasn't crippling anymore.

For the first time, it was as if the good had caught up with the bad. Despite everything he'd been forced to live through- he had  _lived._ He was alive, and he may not have a lot, but he had more than some. He had a brother who stood in front of  _God_ and still thought of  _Sam_. Everything could have been so much worse than it was; he could have died in a fire, he could have been lost to the demons that took his father in the form of whiskey and revenge, he could have lost Dean a hundred different times, could have been forced to face the world- and all its monsters- alone.

He had lived through so much, but he was alive. He'd lost so many loved ones, but at least he'd had a chance to  _love_ them.

He blinked through tears, feeling younger than his age for the first time since he was seven. Dean looked alarmed, but Sam shook his head, muttered, "Thanks," which was not  _nearly_ enough to express all of- everything, but it was about as much as Dean would stand to hear, as much as Sam could articulate.

"And Cas- he promised to talk to you. But he didn't say when." A scowl, a flex of his hand around Castiel's, neither of them letting go. "Sorry."

The angel shook his head, remarkably unconcerned. There was a lull, in which Dean sagged back into Sam's arm, blinking tiredly, and then he shot up again abruptly, looking like he half-regretted it a second later and powering through anyway; "Oh yeah- Sam, you can go back to school. The big man upstairs wiped our slates clean, no more criminal record. Gotta give him props for that almighty all-powerful thing. It'll be a lot easier for you to have a normal life if you don't have to worry about, you know, prison."

Sam hadn't expected that wound to heal, but there it went. Dean was obviously at his sharing-and-caring quota if the fidgetting was anything to go by, so when he pulled away Sam let him go and leaned back.

Sam's soul might have gotten better, and he was sure he'd be getting use to that for a long time to come, but Sam wouldn't let himself hope for a second that Dean had thought to ask the same thing for himself.

Cas might have been thinking along the same lines, because he said, "What about you, Dean? What did Father say to you?"

"He said he felt me struggling." Dean scowled again, rubbed his chest like it hurt. "That I was always struggling so much. He said he was amazed one soul could fight so hard against impossible things. And he saw all the shit we went through," he continued sourly. "'We' being, you know, Team Free Will. He saw all the choices we made, how we chose the hardest fucking road  _every time_ because for some reason it was always on us-  _us_ , two kids from Kansas and a really confused angel- to do the right thing when Heaven jumped the apocolypse bandwagon and everyone else was only in it for themselves. He said he was  _proud_ of us."

"Proud?" Castiel said carefully, like he was trying the word out. Dean nodded, looking decidedly unimpressed with that word of praise from God, because _only Dean_. Sam, despite the magnitude of the conversation they were having, kept losing his focus; Dean's chest was rising and falling with each breath, each one a reminder that his big brother was still, amazingly, stubbornly, quite miraculously, very alive.


End file.
